


Open Season

by last_illusions (injured_eternity)



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-01
Updated: 2006-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/injured_eternity/pseuds/last_illusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac, Stella, long shifts, random questions, dinner, and a movie lead to a rather interesting evening and some equally interesting discussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Season

**Author's Note:**

> Written in reaction to Gary Sinise’s role as the hunter Shaw in the upcoming Sony film Open Season.
> 
> Pigalle's, the restaurant featured in this piece, really does exist; the food is adapted Parisian cuisine—utterly to die for. Granted, it happens to be right around the Broadway area, and perhaps a bit out of the way for our detectives, but since part of the PD is a few blocks away, give me a break—artistic license is a wonderful thing. :)
> 
> Written for moska_v, who planted the seed of the idea. The section of italicised dialogue is hers, modified to fit the story.

“Thank God,” Stella declared emphatically, tossing a folder to the pile at the side of her desk.

The day had been a painfully long one, and though it had ended on the satisfying note of incarcerating a rapist, the double—or was it triple?—shift was getting to all of them.

Sighing, she ran her hands through her curly dark hair, tipping her head back for a moment to stretch. “Now all that’s left is to give that to Mac, and then I am done.”

“You talking to yourself again, Bonasera?”

Recognizing the low tenor immediately, she didn’t even bother to move, grinning at his unusual greeting. “You know what they say, Taylor—all’s good until you start answering yourself.”

“Then in that case, we’re both fried—I’ve heard you do it, and with my luck, you’ve probably got evidence of me doing it,” he chuckled, and she almost asked him what drugs he’d taken that morning. “So what about me?” he continued, once they’d both stopped laughing.

“Today’s case,” she answered with a yawn, pointing at the pile before leaning down to dig through her lower drawer. “File’s waiting for you. And now that you’re here, you can take it yourself and save me the walk to your office.”

A wry note entered his voice as he stepped further into hers, taking the seat across the desk. “The office that you pass every day on your way out.”

“Uh-huh. Means I don’t detour and get to go straight out that door before someone else tells me there’s just _one_ more analysis I need to look at.” Slowly, she straightened, fast enough for him to catch the devilish gleam in her eye.

The note turned into another chuckle, and he reached over, swiping the case file from the top of the pile and glancing through it briefly. “Faultless, as usual; why I bother reading over it is beyond me,” he remarked after a moment.

“Because it’s you,” came her instant response.

“While I’m almost positive that was an insult, I’m going to pretend I didn’t catch that,” he informed her, rising and taking the file with him, but he stopped as he neared the door, almost as if catching himself suddenly, and turned back to her, retracing his steps. “I almost forgot why I came in here.” At her questioning raised brow, he smiled sheepishly and asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Uh, sleeping?” The look on her face clearly said, “And shouldn’t you be doing the same?” but he continued before she could actually verbalize it.

“You willing to delay that a couple hours?”

She rose to her feet, flinching as her leg protested the sudden return of circulation, and limped around the desk to join him. “That depends—if you say you’ve got a homicide I absolutely _must_ see, I’m going to tell you that it can either wait until morning for once, or that night shift can suffer through this one. On the other hand, if you’ve got something else in mind, I just might say yes.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugged. “Is an offer of dinner and a movie a sufficient enough ‘something else’?”

A smile danced across her lips as she tipped her head to the side, watching him. “I certainly won’t turn _that_ down. You have anything specific in mind?”

“Yeah, that new Sony picture that just came out— _Open Season_. I wasn’t actually planning to go, but a friend told me it was worth seeing, so I figured I’d see if you wanted to go with me. After this shift, we could probably both use the time to wind down a bit, anyway.”

“Okay,” she nodded in agreement. “I’m game. When do you want to go?”

“Leave in about five minutes?” he suggested, casting a glance at his watch.

“Sure. I’ll wrap up here and meet you at your office.”

Nodding, he turned to leave, but her voice stopped him at the door once again.

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

“What?” His face was the utter picture of innocence—and maybe confusion.

She rolled her eyes, fighting to keep a straight face. “You just wanted to make me walk in there after I said I’d given you the folder and no longer had to.”

This time, he grinned. “I never call a lady’s bluff, Stel—and I’m certainly not stupid enough to call yours.”

( _Open Season_ )

“Your go,” she told him as she took a bite of her salmon. They sat at a table by the open window of Pigalle’s* terrace, continuing to shoot questions at one another—the price of getting bored while waiting for dinner, apparently.

“Okay… Um…” Thinking, he toyed almost unconsciously with his fork and then grinned. “What color would you have your hair be if you had a choice?”

Surprise froze her with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Now _that_ was random.”

“Hey—you’re the one who said ‘questions we’d never asked each other.’ I wanted to ask you that a long time ago, just never quite got around to it.”

“Fair enough. Auburn—not the bright, artificial-looking red that nature would never have condoned, but just dark enough to come out with that coppery highlight in direct sun.”

“For the record, I like it as it is.”

“Thank you.” She shot him a decidedly cheeky grin, then asked, “Okay, so out of everyone at the lab, who’s your least favorite person?”

“Fine,” came his good-natured grumble. “I ask you an innocuous question about your hair, and then you go shoot for potential blackmail.”

A wounded look appeared on her face. “Mac! You think _I_ would do that??” The fact that she was about choking on suppressed laughter rather destroyed the effect, but effort was always a good thing…

“Okay, um, it’s not that I don’t like him, but there’s only so much of him I can stand at a time. But you get to guess who.”

“Oh, that’s not fair…”

“We’re going to have that discussion again?”

“Probably not wise,” she said with a chuckle. “Okay… Sid?”

Raised eyebrows answered her at first. “You got it in one. How’d you guess?”

“You always send someone else down there when you can.”

“Going to have to work on that,” he grumbled under his breath. “And now you get to pay for that question.” He paused a second, taking a bite of his angel hair pasta before asking, “Who would you marry, if you had the choice of anyone in the world?”

Dark brows shifted. “You want the honest answer that will scare you, or the honest answer that’s going to make you laugh?”

 _That_ had to be some sort of paradox, but at the current moment, muddling through it was tantamount to picking his brain—or rather, what there was left of it—apart, and he had absolutely no intention of doing that until the next morning, so he settled for the only thing he could think of. “There’s more than one?”

“Of course.”

“Right; this is you I’m talking to. So both—start with the second one.”

“Okay… Celebrity, as usual, but Matt Damon.”

“Really.” The guy didn’t strike him as her type, but okay…

“Uh-huh. Not quite sure why, but who says I need a reason?”

“Oh, great. Okay—the other answer.”

“Not so much a fantasy as a ‘what if’ situation, but I’m turning the tables—you get to guess now.”

Sighing in mock exasperation, he shook his head. “I really should have seen that coming.”

“You should have, but that’s beyond the point.”

“Okay—someone I know?”

“Very.”

Picking up the wineglass, he took a sip before realizing he’d taken Stella’s chianti instead of his merlot, and he looked up to see her extremely amused smile. “Don’t say a word,” he mumbled, putting her glass back. “Sorry. Um, Gary?” he suggested, referring to the officer she’d met while working Narcotics.

“Nope.”

“Different question—someone we work with?”

A smile played at her lips as she answered, “Yes,” but something else lay there that he couldn’t quite place.

He shot her a look. “Don?”

“That’s like… I don’t know—that’s about like marrying my brother.”

“Okay, no. Chad?”

She shot him a look in return that said clearly, “Are you out of your mind?” Aloud, she remarked, “Not in this life…”

“I’ll remember to pass that on.” Chuckling as she pretended to throw part of her roll at him, he offered, “Danny?”

“Again, like marrying my brother.”

“Sheldon?”

“Completely not even applicable.”

Confused now, and running out of viable male co-workers that they both knew well, he looked at her over the table, wondering. Again, he picked up the wine—the correct one, this time—and shook his head. “I’d say Hillbourne, but I think you’d shoot me.”

“Quite cheerfully.”

“All right, then,” he shrugged. “Out of ideas.”

“You can do better than that, Mac.”

Was it just him, or was there an emphasis on his name? “Who else do we work with enough to really _know_?”

“If you don’t know this one, you’ve got more problems than I can help you with,” she grinned at him, following suit and taking a sip of her wine. From behind her glass, she watched him, wondering if that had been a wise direction to take the evening in. Just as promptly, she decided she didn’t care.

“Oh that’s encouraging… Someone I see on a daily basis?”

“Oh yeah… Someone you see 24/7.”

Now he was really confused. Who did he work with that he saw all the time? He certainly wasn’t living—oh. “I’m misreading that, right?”

“Who do you think?”

“The only person I ever see 24/7—me.”

“Hit the nail on the head. Too bad it took you ten tries. Thought you knew me better than that.” She couldn’t help but laugh at his utterly floored expression. “Come on, Mac—trust your instincts, would you?”

Holding up his hands in mock surrender, a mix of flattery, surprise, and confusion flooded through him, but he returned her laugh. “All right, all right… Got your point.”

“Uh-huh… Now, my turn. I could be really evil and turn the question on you, but… Here’s something easy—where would you live, outside of the States?”

“Naples,” he answered immediately. “My father used to talk about it all the time—I only made it out once, but I fell in love with it.”

“I knew you had good taste.”

Ducking away from the compliment, he just smiled, glancing at his watch. “Hate to say it, but we should probably get going. Being late won’t help.”

“Really?”

And if a snake could have smiled when it found out that the killing bite it had delivered lacked venom, Stella’s expression would have captured it perfectly—and Mac certainly wasn’t stupid enough to believe that she’d really let him get away with asking that question. The prices one had to pay…

( _Open Season_ )

When they took their seats in a theatre just empty enough to allow for comfort on a weekday evening when most intelligent people were at home sleeping, Stella groaned as she sat down, earning herself a curiously amused glance from her boss.

“You all right?”

The bag of popcorn they’d decided to split appeared in front of her, and a low chuckle escaped her as she took a few pieces and answered, “Yep. I just haven’t had the chance to sit in anything that wasn’t an office chair or a car in what seems like forever—this damn chair is too disturbingly comfortable.”

Mac almost choked on the piece of popcorn he’d chosen the wrong moment to eat, and this time it was Stella who wore the mask of amusement as she patted him on the back. “Don’t die on me, now—I’ve had enough fun in that department for a few days.”

A glare was shot her way, and once he was able to speak again, he informed her, “I’ll have you know that was _not_ my fault!”

“Right. Sure. Your lunch just happened to jump down your throat the wrong way, right?” She received a mumbled response, and an eyebrow shifted in his direction. “Come again?”

Sighing, he shook his head. “I said, Claire was right: never argue with a woman.”

“Women the world around are right on that one,” she laughed, snagging the bag from him, “and don’t waste your time trying to prove us otherwise. Didn’t work on her, hasn’t worked on me, won’t work on most.”

“Most,” he pointed out, but when she opened her mouth to respond, he held up his hands. “I’m shutting up now.”

“I was going to say,” she drawled out, “that you’re right. Some are a little slow on the uptake, and on occasion, the rest of us concede that a male can be right—at least partially.”

He shot her a skeptical look, shook his head again and fought back the grin, and promptly stole the bag back from her. As the lights dimmed a minute later, she whispered in his ear, “Don’t fight the inevitable,” before turning back to the screen, her relaxed smile highlighted in the dim glow from the front of the theatre. Rolling his eyes, Mac gave up for the moment and sat back to watch it as well.

The film did prove amusing. He had been right—though Stella would never tell him that in those exact words—about it being a nice way to wind down after the past couple of days they’d had. After all, who could resist a well-characterized moose? Not that the question really warranted an answer, given that she had a friend who was absolutely terrified of the animals, but that was another matter for a time when her mind was a little more coherent.

 _And then the hunter Shaw came on screen, cackling as he played his rifle like a guitar, and Stella came fully awake, eyes narrowing as she turned her gaze from the screen to Mac, and then back to the screen before finally settling on him._

 _“Okay,” she whispered finally, leaning over so he could hear her. “When on earth did you find time to do that??”_

 _“Do what?”_

 _“That hunter—that’s you!”_

 _The look Mac shot her clearly questioned her sanity. “Are you drunk?”_

 _“I don’t get drunk on one glass of wine,” she shot back pertly, “but I know that’s you! You made that exact same noise after the Great 2001 Prank-Out at the office when you were trying to mess with Danny’s head!”_

 _“I did not.”_

 _“Did so.”_

“You did—“

“What was that about not arguing with women?”

With a roll of his eyes, Mac reached over and laid his hand against her forehead, only half-kidding. “New question then: are you _hallucinating_?”

“If you’re touching my forehead, then no, I’m not, and that is you!” she insisted.

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head on something at a scene today?”

“YES!!” She flinched and lowered her voice back to a whisper as several people turned to shoot funny looks in their direction, and she threw up her hands. “Damn! I _knew_ I should have had a recorder!!”

A wicked gleam of a sort she hadn’t seen since before Claire died entered Mac’s eyes, and he leaned closer, putting his lips right up by her ear and whispering, “Detective’s first rule of thumb, Stella: preserve your evidence.”

( _Open Season_ )

Parking in front of her building, he killed the engine and got out, informing her, “I’ll walk you up.” It was a statement, rather than an offer, leaving no room for argument, and with a roll of her eyes, she shot him a grin and made her way up the stairs.

As per usual, she paused at the stained glass bay window that faced the district they had just left, loving the mirage that swam in front of her through the surreal colors of the glass.

“Stel?” Mac’s voice pulled her away, and she turned back to him as she pulled her key out.

“You want to come in for a sec?” Stepping in, she turned back, one eyebrow raised in question as she held the door open.

“You mind?”

“I asked, didn’t I?” she reminded him, and he stepped in after her.

She disappeared for a minute or two, then stepped up next to him, holding out a glass of wine. When in doubt, drink wine; that seemed to be their creed that night.

Chuckling, he accepted the proffered glass. “ ‘Coming in for a sec’ usually doesn’t include the refreshments,” he teased.

“Eh, well, whoever said either of us were normal?”

“I’m perfectly normal, thank you very much!”

“Mac, the only way you’d ever be normal is if the rest of the world had the same tendency to stay at work as long as is humanly possible.”

“I’m not that bad!” he protested. “Okay, maybe close,” he conceded at the look she shot him, “but at least I don’t live there!”

“If you did, Hillbourne would probably fire you just so the department wouldn’t have to pay all the overtime,” she pointed out, and he groaned.

“Why do I bother?” The question was a low, teasing grumble, addressed to no one in particular, though the light fixture over his head seemed to be a promising candidate at the moment.

With a sigh of relief, she sank onto her sofa. “Because you like making life difficult. Fighting the obvious only serves that purpose.”

“Uh-huh.” Shaking his head, he joined her. “This couch of yours has never felt so good.”

“I’m sure it’s complimented,” she laughed.

An easy silence fell, broken only by the ticking of her wall clock that served as a constant reminder of the seconds lost in lives that ran on without pause. For some odd reason, she found herself reminded of Darcy, out of Jane Austen’s _Pride and Prejudice_. It had always been one of her favorites, and once she had met Mac, she’d been convinced that he was Austen’s character brought to life—only Mac Taylor was a bit more personable than the rather imposing Fitzwilliam Darcy. His name was a little more appealing, too, for that matter. The image of Claire as Elizabeth Bennett, on the other hand, still brought a smile to her face—that woman in a family like that? Heaven forbid. Mac _marrying_ into a family like that… Oh good Lord…

“What’re you thinking about?”

The smile broadened. “You and Darcy.”

It took him a minute to realize what she was talking about, given that the one and only time they’d had that conversation had been over a dinner at his and Claire’s when all three of them had consumed more alcohol than was probably safe for sanity, but once he figured it out, a matching smile started to work its way across his face.

“You ever see the film version that came out a couple months ago?”

“Yep. Darcy was way too nice.” A laugh answered hers, and she paused a moment before saying, “Can I ask you something?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Probably not.”

“I figured as much. Shoot.”

“Literally?” she snickered. “Anyway, I was wondering what made you ask me that question earlier.”

Certainly not stupid enough to ask her which question, he nodded. “Just one of those things—of all the things we wind up having conversations about, we never really fell into that department, so it was worth asking.”

“Was it?”

He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eye. “I don’t regret it, if that’s what you mean.”

“Mmm.”

Letting her ponder that one for a second, he sighed inwardly, staring into his wineglass, essentially unsure in his own way of why he had asked her that. Her response had been, on some levels, flattering, and on others, shocking—he’d really never considered that she’d ever say that. Sure, when he’d met her, he’d thought about asking her out for awhile, but then she disappeared for a few years on Narcotics, and he’d married. Simple as that. Even when she’d come back to Manhattan, they’d picked up where they’d left off, he’d offered her a job, and she’d gotten along wonderfully with Claire.

He took another sip of wine and glanced at his watch, flinching. “Okay, I should go—we both need some sleep.”

“Yeah; not showing up half asleep tomorrow would probably be beneficial,” she commented, rising with him and moving to the door.

Stepping up beside her, his voice in her ear stopped her from opening it. Maybe they’d both drunk a little more than they should have that night (though two glasses a few hours apart was hardly overdoing it for either of them), or maybe they simply weren’t awake enough, but for whatever reason, he put a hand on her shoulder and murmured, “You never did retaliate with that question, but I’ll answer it anyway—reverse your own answer, Stel. See where that takes you.”

Leaning down, he kissed her cheek lightly, then pulled open the door and slipped out, leaving a pleasantly surprised Stella standing in her doorway.

  
 _Finis._

 _Feedback is always appreciated._


End file.
